After giving it some thought, I pinpointed the moment when she emerged. Ironically, it had nothing to do with my own illness. In the summer of 2008, my mother pretty much moved from Wilmington, De., to Brooklyn to take care of me. For the entire time she stayed with me, she cooked three meals a day, did all of my laundry, and cleaned my apartment. When I had to go back to the emergency room due to complications, Lorraine was there with me. When I felt nauseous after chemo, she forced me to go outside. “Push yourself,” she would say. On every step of my journey, she walked right next to me.

And to celebrate my last chemo session at the end of October, she offered to cook me a fabulous dinner in her newly remodeled kitchen, which had gotten put on hold until I got better. But the day after my last chemo, my mom was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit at a hospital in Wilmington. What was supposed to have been exploratory surgery turned out to be much more. Her heart and lungs were suffering, and I thought I might lose her. Every day, my sister and I were at that hospital, annoying the nursing staff with our constant questions and concerns (well, really my sister) and trying to figure out the best care for my mom.

One night after Toni left the ICU, I sat in the chair by my mom’s bedside like she had done for me so many times before. Just the two of us. I told her over and over that she was going to be fine. She may have been unconscious, but I knew she could hear me. And that’s the moment it happened. The moment the new me took command.

Miraculously, my mom recovered. It was a slow process, though. Every day, she made a bit more progress, and every day I pushed her. And when she was transferred to a rehabilitation center to learn how to walk again, guess who was right next to her every step of the way?

After a two-month ordeal, mom returned home to a dope new kitchen, and to celebrate, I made dinner for her. Lamb chops. I had never felt stronger. It seems taking care of her had shocked the new me into existence. And just in time, too. I had channeled my inner Lynda Carter when I needed her most, and I don’t think she’s leaving.